


Let Me Be Your Guarantee

by dracofire87



Series: The Road Back Home [3]
Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24906466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracofire87/pseuds/dracofire87
Summary: Kyouya Ootori has just had a surprising--and intimate--encounter with his long-time best friend, Tamaki. Kyouya didn't look before he leapt, and now he has to reckon with Haruhi's reaction. He can't imagine she'll look kindly on him being with Tamaki, no matter what they've done between the three of them...
Relationships: Fujioka Haruhi/Ootori Kyouya, Fujioka Haruhi/Ootori Kyouya/Suoh Tamaki
Series: The Road Back Home [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764340
Comments: 9
Kudos: 116





	Let Me Be Your Guarantee

Kyouya Ootori, for once in his life, was afraid.

He could count the moments of true terror in his life on his hands--when he’d learned that the Ootori Group was in financial jeopardy sprang to mind, or the moment it had seemed like Tamaki was truly set on leaving the Host Club forever. Moments of not just anxiety or worry, but when icy fingers had settled into his gut and ripped his usual clear-headed control away.

He’d not exactly expected to add “getting caught naked in bed with Tamaki after mind-blowing sex” to that list of moments, but here he was.

Tamaki, who’d been happily dozing against his shoulder, felt Kyouya jolt, blinked up at him drowsily. Tamaki’s fingers curled into his chest, and he couldn’t _allow_ himself to think about that, not right now. Not if he wanted to get through the coming hell without breaking into a dozen pieces.

“Kyouya? What’s wrong?”

“Haruhi’s home,” he replied. His voice felt distant from himself, like it was coming out of someone else’s mouth.

“Oh, good!” Tamaki beamed up at him--then frowned and startled upright. “Oh no!”

“Yes, precisely.” Kyouya found it reassuring that he could still summon sarcasm. It meant his mind wasn’t totally gone, at least.

Tamaki slid out of bed--part of Kyouya wanted to grab his arm and haul him back into bed, but _he wasn’t listening to traitorous thoughts_ , thank you--and started rummaging for his clothes. “Oh, no, this is terrible…”

“Tamaki--” Kyouya tried to summon calm, and mostly failed, but managed to get his voice level. “Surely there’s some...solution--”

“--I was supposed to start dinner! Oh dear, the meat was already thawed...what time _is_ it?”

Kyouya stared at Tamaki, completely at a loss for words.

Goodness, Tamaki really did have quite a well-formed ass.

That he’d just fucked.

Oh, this was problematic.

“Tamaki, I’m not sure your priorities are _quite_ in the right place--”

And then there was a knock at the door.

Kyouya froze.

“May I come in?”

 _No!_ rose to Kyouya’s lips, unbidden, and was stifled before it could become more than a puff of air past his lips. Before he could come up with a less asinine response, Tamaki was already responding.

“Of course!” Belatedly, he glanced at Kyouya and flushed. “Um. Maybe, Haruhi dear?”

The door swung open an inch, stopped. Swung open a little more.

Kyouya took the opportunity to wrap the sheets around what remained of his...dignity.

Haruhi’s head slid slowly into view. She took in the scene, slowly--eyes resting first on Kyouya, clearly naked on the bed, sheet wrapped around his hips, hiding less than nothing; then on Tamaki halfway into his pants, bite marks livid across his pale skin; and finally to the clothes scattered on the floor, eyes lingering on ruined shirt, ripped and buttonless.

Both of Haruhi’s eyebrows rose, fractionally.

Kyouya braced.

He watched Haruhi’s mouth work, ever so slightly, her expression carefully schooled into lawyerly blankness. 

“I’m so sorry, Haruhi,” Tamaki blurted. He yanked his pants up across his hips, fastening them hurriedly...as he moved over to give Haruhi a kiss. Which she returned without hesitation, to Kyouya’s surprise. “I got distracted again. Would you like me to get started on dinner, or just order takeout?”

She laughed, and Kyouya’s bewilderment deepened. “If you don’t mind cooking? I was looking forward to the katsudon.”

Tamaki sighed in relief. “Katsudon coming right up, my dearest!” He glanced over his shoulder at Kyouya. “Oh, should I make three portions?” He beamed, and Kyouya blinked. “Don’t worry, Kyouya-kun, there’s plenty!”

“I…” Kyouya’s gaze flickered between Tamaki and Haruhi. He could feel his assumptions slipping from under his feet. Again. “It sounds...lovely?”

“Excellent! I’ve been fiddling with the recipe...oh dear, this poor shirt…” Tamaki buried himself in the closet, searching for an undamaged shirt to wear. Kyouya’s eyes slipped back to Haruhi, who was now leaning in the doorway.

Some of Tamaki’s fashion sense must have been rubbing off on Haruhi: the dark grey pantsuit she was wearing was a masterpiece of simple style. It straddled the line between masculine and feminine perfectly, smoothing out Haruhi’s curves, yet cut to draw eyes to the hips and chest in a way few men would tolerate. Simple, elegant, down to earth...but not without a hidden layer or three.

It fit her very well indeed.

He caught her watching him, as Tamaki--freshly shirted, more the pity--bustled past her with another kiss on the cheek.

Kyouya drew himself up, took in a deep breath--

“Would you like to talk about it?” Haruhi smiled at him, gently.

He blinked at her, the words he’d been marshalling breaking apart and scattering.

“You’re remarkably calm about all this.”

Haruhi laughed, quietly.

“May I sit with you?” She tilted her head towards a spot on the bed next to him.

“I suppose, yes?” He was far too well trained to blush, too bewildered to do more than agree.

She slipped into the room, gently closing the door behind her. Sat down on the bed beside him, the mattress bowing slightly under her weight. Smiled up at him, dark eyes...amused, and kind.

“Did you get what you needed, Kyouya-senpai?”

Kyouya felt his brow furrow, shook his head. “I don’t understand...what you’re asking?”

Her smile tilted wryly, but didn’t fade. “You and Tamaki. Did you get something you needed? Something you were missing?”

He swallowed, with difficulty. “I don’t…it was…” His lips started to form “pleasant,” and stopped. It was beyond even his powers of dissembling to try and make _that_ experience sound like nothing more than an amusement. What _had_ it been, beyond pleasurable?

His fingers twisted into the sheets, as the moment stretched and his lack of answer became more apparent. It hadn’t been something he _needed,_ surely. He _needed_ food, he _needed_ water. Sleep and shelter, surely. Beyond that, everything else was merely...wanting. He’d _wanted_ the appreciation of his father and brothers, _wanted_ to etch his mark on the world, _wanted_ Tamaki Suoh in his bed. But he could live, could survive without them.

He’d had to. He _had._ Cold, and alone, with nothing but what he could scrape together by wit and will...but he’d survived. He knew the line between _needing_ and _wanting._ He’d mapped every inch of it.

Gentle fingers threaded through his, re-anchoring him in reality. Haruhi’s fingers, slender and strong, between his own. She squeezed his hand in hers, and reached up with her other hand to tilt his face towards her. Her fingertips were soft and warm, and he leaned in towards her, just a bit, without thinking. Haruhi and Tamaki had always been so warm, compared to him--the shadow-king, made of ice and steel.

He _hated_ the cold.

Haruhi’s eyes drew his, gently, catching his gaze and keeping it. Kyouya felt himself slip sideways a bit; as if the world around them was receding, blurring, becoming less real. Her eyes were real, her hand in his was real, her touch on his skin was real. The rest was...optional.

“You need him, Kyouya. You do.”

Something in him cracked, a devastating fracture in a dam he’d barely recognized existed in himself. The world went watery and blurred, his throat knotting up tight. He heard someone take in a gulping breath, ragged and pained, and distantly realized the breath was his. He shook his head, wordlessly.

“It’s okay. You’re alright, shh…” Her thumb rubbed across his cheek, and something smeared wetly there, cooling in the air. Her smile at him was sweet, and kind, and, for some reason, a little sad. “It’s okay, Kyouya-kun. He needs you too.”

Tamaki wanted him. Tamaki... _needed_ him.

For just a moment, he allowed himself to think it might actually be true.

It was too much. Too much to bear, too much to know. Too much even for iron and ice.

His face crumpled. His shoulders bowed.

And the dam broke.

Kyouya Ootori, for the first time since he was a child, broke down and sobbed.

Gentle hands drew him down, held him. Cradled him, as twenty years of bottled need tore its way out of him, all at once. Spoke soft and soothing words as he shook and cried. He couldn’t have stopped it if he’d wanted to.

He didn’t want to. He was so tired of the cold.

Eventually, he came back to himself enough to breathe more deeply, to blink tearily until his vision began to clear.

Haruhi pressed a handkerchief gently into his fingers. He clutched it, absurdly grateful, and used it to wipe his eyes and nose. His head was in Haruhi’s lap, his body curled up tightly against her side. Gingerly, he stretched out a little, wincing as clenched muscles unwound reluctantly.

He took a breath, slow, deep, and shuddering, then another. Then a third. Haruhi’s fingers brushed soothingly down his shoulder and side, and he found that, oddly, it helped him relax. Regain words, regain control.

“I…” Kyouya’s voice creaked, then steadied. He stared resolutely out at the middle distance, not trusting himself to look up at Haruhi. “I fear I’ve embarrassed myself.”

Haruhi laughed, a little. “Tamaki cries all the time, you know.”

Despite himself, Kyouya smiled, thinly, and glanced up at Haruhi. “I don’t know if I’d consider that a...recommendation.”

She smiled back, and Kyouya felt himself warm. “You needed that too.”

He made a noncommittal grunt and looked away--

\--then slim, but _strong_ fingers gently gripped his chin and tilted his head back up to face her. Kyouya’s eyes flickered up to Haruhi’s, slid away...slid back, as if compelled.

“Kyouya Ootori. People do not break down like that when they do not _need_ to.” Her tone was quiet, but _firm_...and suddenly Kyouya found himself not wanting to argue. His eyes slipped away again. “Kyouya-kun. Look at me.”

Kyouya obeyed.

“You needed that. You need him.” A pause, a smile, a gentling of her tone: “You need us.”

He tried to deny it, to deny the certainty in Haruhi’s tone, that mirrored the quiet wanting welling up in his own mind, his own heart.

He’d never had a talent for self-deception.

Wordlessly, he nodded. The grip on his chin gentled, turned into a caress across his cheek. So _warm_.

Haruhi smiled. “It’s okay, Kyouya. It really is. You’re safe, with us.”

“Haruhi…” He shook his head. “Tamaki...and I…we…”

“Yes?” Haruhi’s head tilted, and if anything, her smile widened. Grew intent.

“We…” He struggled for eloquence, struggled for _words_ , struggled with an unusual sense of guilt. “He and I were...together...today…”

Haruhi leaned in, rubbed her thumb over his cheek, smiled. “Kyouya. Dear. You fucked his brains out.”

Kyouya _blushed,_ in spite of all his training. “That would be one...way in which to describe…” He paused, levering himself upright. “You’re not angry?”

Haruhi...stared at him, in the way that could make the Twins in full swing stop in their tracks. Kyouya felt very small, and very stupid. He didn’t like it.

“Kyouya Ootori, less than a week ago, _all three of us_ were naked in this bedroom. Doing pretty much precisely that.”

He drew the tattered remnants of his dignity up around himself. “That was...all...three of us.” Kyouya’s gaze skittered down and away from the acerbic, bemused expression on Haruhi’s face. “I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to...steal him.”

Haruhi blinked at him once. Twice. Then she started to laugh. And didn’t stop, covering her mouth with her hand and giggling helplessly. Once, she started to regain her composure, mouthed “steal him?” and started giggling again. Kyouya, bereft for anything better to do, drew the sheet tighter around himself and glowered.

“I’m sorry,” Haruhi said, after _far_ too long regaining her composure. She wiped her eyes a little. “It’s just…” She smiled at Kyouya, brilliant and amused. “Do you really think that you could _steal_ him from me?”

Kyouya glowered more, but couldn’t bring himself to put real heat into it. Tamaki had practically walked through fire for Haruhi already. The thought of Tamaki leaving Haruhi, even for him was...well. It was ludicrous. He ducked his head, to cover his own smile.

“That’s the crazy thing about love, Kyouya-senpai,” Haruhi said. “It doesn’t necessarily stick to just one person at a time.”

“It seems...excessive.” He blinked at her, ready to clarify the hasty words--but saw instead an understanding smile on Haruhi’s face.

When you hadn’t expected to be loved _once,_ twice seemed almost too much to encompass. Or bear.

It made him feel...fragile, like a shell of steel and stone had been stripped away from him. So vulnerable. And yet, there was a freedom to it. In this space, in this mind, he could do things he never would have been capable of before--if only he could survive doing them. If his encounter with Tamaki had felt like going down a steep mountain trail, this felt like freefall.

Well, if you didn’t want to accept the risk of going skydiving, you shouldn’t _get on the goddamned plane._

Silently, haltingly, he curled up beside Haruhi and laid his head down in her lap. He braced for some acerbic comment, some dry reminder that he’d done something unwanted. Maybe he’d read this wrong. Maybe he was heading for a short, sharp contact with the ground.

Then Haruhi’s hand came to rest on his head, slender fingers slipping through the dark nest of his hair. He heard her laugh, quiet and pleased.

“Oh, there you go. That’s my Kyouya.”

The words sank into him and settled in his belly like a slug of good whiskey, filling him with tingling warmth. They sang in the back of his head... _hers, hers, hers…_ He could _feel_ his shoulders unwind, the bar of tension leach from around his chest. On impulse, he nuzzled gently into her thigh.

“Hmm. Looks like I was right…” Haruhi’s fingers stroked gently through his hair, down the back of his neck. It felt so _good._ He felt, more than heard, her inquisitive hum. “Do you like being my good boy, Kyouya-kun?”

It was ludicrous, is what it was. He’d never been a “good” anything. He’d certainly never been a good boy. He’d been a disappointing boy. He’d...he’d…

Oh.

He buried his face in Haruhi’s thigh, not trusting his voice with his throat knotted that tight, and nodded.

Haruhi laughed, gently, musical and happy, and...that made _him_ happy too, knowing he’d made Haruhi laugh, knowing he’d pleased her.

Well. That was new.

( _Was it, really?_ a quiet thought asked, in the increasingly small space left for such difficult pursuits as _thinking._ _You’ve tried to serve everyone you’ve ever loved. Your father, your family, Tamaki, the host club. Why should she be different?_ )

_I’ve made my own way. Always._

Amused, mocking laughter, from the depths of his own self. _Only because they never valued your service. Never understood it._

He tilted his head, twisting around until he could fix his eyes on Haruhi’s face. She smiled at him, warm and understanding. He opened his mouth to speak, but a slender finger laid gently across his lips, and everything he might have said fled from him.

“It’s okay, Kyouya-kun. You want to be good. You want to be useful.” Her smile warmed and widened. “You’re very good to me, Kyouya-kun.”

“I…” He felt like the words were being dragged from him, by a rare and painful spasm of guilt. “I trapped you. In the Host Club. Held it over you. Used you. Felt no guilt, no remorse.”

Haruhi’s smile turned wry. “Yes, you did. You can be _quite_ the asshole, Kyouya-kun. However…” Her smile re-lit, and she shrugged. “I also made friends. Came out of my shell. Met my husband. Met you.”

“I wouldn’t...have cared if you were miserable.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Haruhi’s head tilted, one eyebrow lifting. “I’m not so sure.”

“You’ve always told me the ends don’t justify the means.”

“Hmm. Don’t they? I took advantage of your exhaustion and your loneliness to finally get you into our bed.”

Part of him--the analytical calculator, always running the information lines, even now--caught the implication, and was briefly overwhelmed. How long had Haruhi been running this gambit, quietly maneuvering to bring him to this space?

She smiled, a little wickedly. “Maybe you taught me, too, Kyouya-senpai.”

Oh, he was well and truly caught--so well that he’d rather be undone than gain his freedom.

“I still...wronged you.” His thoughts were falling apart, and so were his words, his accustomed eloquence deserting him.

“Maybe you did.” Her fingers threaded through his hair again, and this time tightened, stealing his breath with an edge of delightful pain. “Do I want apologies? Or do I want you to do _better?_ ”

“Better.” His voice came out as a rasping shadow of its former self. “You want me to do better.”

“There you go.” Haruhi smiled and relaxed her grip, and Kyouya hauled in a ragged breath. “Good boy.”

Kyouya shuddered, with no hope of controlling it, as the words slid through him. God. Two words of praise from Haruhi felt better than the look on his father’s face, when he’d handed back control of the Ootori Group.

Haruhi’s fingers stroked through his hair again, cupped and caressed his cheek. “There we go. It’s okay. I won’t ever harm you, Kyouya. Here, you’re safe. Here, you’re wanted. Here, you’re mine.”

His body and mind rang with it. Would she? Could she? “Safe” was a word that hardly held meaning for him anymore.

She must have felt his hesitation, because she stroked warm fingers down his bare chest. “I promise you, Kyouya-kun. Swear to you. I will guard you like the richest treasure.”

It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t _logical._ Safety was a thing of percentages and statistics. Surety was impossible. To yield that oversight to another was...the ultimate surrender of control. Kyouya Ootori was _always_ in control.

“And if you...can’t?” He tensed under her touch, and her hand paused, flattening gently over his chest.

“Then it will not be of my own will, or because I have withheld an ounce of my strength from you,” she replied, meeting his eyes with deadly earnestness. “I can’t promise you perfection, Kyouya. I know better than that. But I will keep you safe. I will never hurt you in a way you don’t wish to be hurt. I will do my best. Can you trust me?”

Kyouya shivered. Part of him didn’t believe that slender, gentle Haruhi could ever bring herself to hurt him. Part of him... _really_ wanted to try and find out.

Trust? Trust was for fools. Trust was for those too naive and innocent to know how hard the world really was. He didn’t even trust his brothers, his father, his _family._

All he had to do was get up and walk away. He was pretty sure she’d let him. The idea of Haruhi _forcing_ him to do anything was ludicrous.

Kyouya was comfortable with deceit, intimidation, manipulation. He was careful about his reputation--he made no deal he did not intend to hold to--but had no issues with going beneath the belt to get what he wanted. He had sacrificed pawns before, without hesitation.

...it was quite another thing to betray your inner self.

“I trust you,” Kyouya said, and surprised himself by realizing that he meant it.

“Then let _go,_ Kyouya-kun,” Haruhi said, firmly.

It took a moment. He clung to control with the desperate grip of a man who’d always assumed that one small slip would mean the inevitability of dying. It was like prying metaphorical fingers free, one by one.

With a rush of adrenaline and quiet terror, Kyouya Ootori let go of control of his life for the first time in well over a decade--choosing, consciously, to trust in Haruhi Fujioka.

Nothing happened.

Kyouya opened his eyes, slowly, embarrassed to realize he’d been squeezing them shut.

Haruhi looked down at him, clearly amused.

“I...expected that to be somewhat more momentous,” he said, sheepishly.

She just smiled, and threaded her fingers through his hair, pulling her grip tight again--and oh, that felt _good,_ it felt so right to arch his back as she tugged his head back.

“One step at a time, Kyouya-kun. Good boy. I’m very proud of you.”

 _Oh,_ that went straight to his belly, and from there, down between his legs. Proud of him. God, did she mean it? He had to trust her. That meant she _meant_ it. Oh god.

“There we go...see? Doesn’t that feel better?”

Kyouya nodded, flushing deeply as the tug against his hair dragged a whimper out of him.

“Good boy. You don’t have to be quiet. Tamaki paid for _excellent_ soundproofing…”

He felt the burning of his face intensify, opened his mouth to speak, and was cut off by another tug on his hair.

“Shh, no, no excuses. No shame, Kyouya-kun, do you understand me? Shame doesn’t belong here. You can have it back when I’m done with you.”

No shame? What would that even feel like?

Like freedom, probably.

His mind, quick and incisive even through the increasing haze of _need_ , jumped down the cascade of conclusions from his surrender. If he was no longer in control, then what was the point of restraint? That was Haruhi’s job, Haruhi’s...privilege. She would keep him safe, keep him from harm...stop him, before he did something wrong. Correct him? Yes. Please. That sounded _wonderful._

Another sharp pull on his hair jolted him out of his woolgathering, slammed him back to the immediate moment. Haruhi was speaking to him. Oh, fuck, he’d missed something--

“Kyouya-kun. Are you thinking on me again?”

“No. I mean yes. I was.” He was stammering, he must sound so stupid, but he had to trust--

Strong fingers pulled his head back, exposing his throat, making his back arch as he whimpered without restraint.

“Do I need to give you something to focus on, Kyouya-kun?”

“N-no…!”

“Kyouya-kun.” Haruhi smiled, amused and warm. “You have a wonderful mind. But it’s mine, right now. Stop using it when I don’t tell you to.”

Kyouya nodded, wonderfully painfully, in earnest agreement. It seemed so _reasonable_ now. “Yes. Yes ma’am.”

Haruhi chuckled, slid her fingers down his cheek...dragged her thumb down across his lips. They parted for her, without hesitation--it felt so _good_ to be touched there, to be eager and open…

“That’s better,” Haruhi said. Her thumb slipped between his lips, into his mouth. It was the easiest thing to wrap his lips around it, to suckle gently on the soft flesh. “Oh, _yes_ , Kyouya-kun, there you go.”

He moaned softly, hips rolling up as she filled his mouth with the gentle, neutral taste of her skin. Despite his earlier “exertions,” he was so hard he was aching, each shift of his hips sliding him against the sheets in helpless _needing._

“Hmm...I think…” Haruhi’s grip shifted, and she drew him into her, tilting his head, pressing his face directly into her belly. It was soft yet firm, warm even through her shirt, and Kyouya arched into her without having to be guided. He inhaled deeply of her scent--fresh soap and a faintly masculine cologne, clean laundry and just a hint of a deeper scent that was simply _her._

“Good, good boy, Kyouya-kun, just like that…” There was a hint of huskiness entering her voice that gratified him as much as the words of praise did. “You like breathing me in, Kyouya-kun?”

He nodded, unwilling to even lift his face enough to speak. One of his hands curled into her thigh, gripping, anchoring himself, as he rubbed and nuzzled, taking his fill of Haruhi’s warmth, her scent, the delightful texture of her shirt against his skin.

He hesitated. He was rumpling her suit, marring the perfect lines with wrinkles. He started to pull back, to look up, to offer apology. 

Surprisingly strong fingers threaded through his hair and shoved him ungently back into the warmth of her belly.

“I didn't tell you to stop, Kyouya-kun.”

He pressed his face hungrily into rumpled cloth, and couldn't help but moan his need and his apology.

“There you go.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and the pleasure at _that_ felt like it might fill him up, take over his mind, his body. “How could you ever think a suit was more important than this?”

When had he ever been more important than _things_ , than _money_?

_With the Host Club. With Tamaki._

_With Haruhi._

Oh. Was that how it was _supposed_ to be?

If he mis-stepped, she’d correct him. No guilt, no shame. She’d fix it. And then they’d...move on? She’d put him right back where he needed to be. Yes.

Was that the trick? To trust and release, to fail, and be corrected and reassured in turn? To give up one’s armor, and in turn receive protection, surety; to be wrapped up in a living, loving shell?

 _Haruhi will protect us,_ he thought, and let himself believe it.

He offered that thought up to his inner self, to the constant voice of watchfulness and critique, a peace offering and compromise. 

He digested this for a moment. _Acceptable,_ he thought. And one by one, the insistent voices that were his constant companions; the selves of calculation, suspicion, and self-protection...fell silent.

Kyouya had never known such utter quiet inside his own mind.

For that alone, he would love Haruhi forever.

He felt the last tension in his body melt away, felt himself become pliable and willing in her hands. In response, gentle fingers raked down his back, drawing soft heat along his spine. He arched into it in turn, letting pleasure write itself openly on his body.

“Oh? Did you like that?” Haruhi asked, voice soft and low. “Someone turned a corner, I think. Good boy. Such a good boy, to go so deep your first time. I’m so proud of you.”

 _Yes. Proud of me. Please. Please you. Want._ Thoughts came only haltingly, through the haze of need, the warmth in his gut and in his mind that his Haruhi’s care elicited. Kyouya didn’t _want_ to think. He wanted to feel. He pressed his face deeper into Haruhi’s belly, pulling on her shirt until it came untucked, until he could get himself under it, and--with courage beyond daring--press his mouth directly to her skin.

It must have been the right thing to do, because her fingers tightened in his hair, and her body quivered under him. She exhaled into a soft, pleased sound, and it encouraged him to mouth gently at the soft skin beneath his lips.

“Oh, yes. Kyouya-kun. Good boy.”

Kyouya huffed his pleasure directly into her belly, and received another near-moan in response. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her pants, dragging himself in, anchoring more tightly. His world was shrinking, becoming exactly one Haruhi wide, one Haruhi deep--what else mattered, what else _existed?_

He wanted to please Haruhi, and that was the extent of his world. It felt wonderful.

Finally, her fingers pulled him back--he whimpered, tugging fruitlessly against that grip.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Kyouya-kun?”

“Yes.” The word escaped him in a rasp. “Yes, please. Haruhi. Please.”

She smiled down at him, and it made him so happy. He was pleasing Haruhi.

“Would you like to go a little further?”

Kyouya nodded, eagerly. Oh yes, that was exactly what he wanted.

Haruhi shifted beneath him, spread her legs a little...and then guided his head down, down between her legs, until his face was pressed between them, into the thin fabric that was the only thing separating him from the depths of her. He nuzzled in, delighted at how it made her gasp, and breathed deep of a much richer scent than he’d been able to get before.

“Oh yes. Yes, you’ll enjoy this…” Haruhi’s voice was a little breathy, and she pulled him back, just enough for her to shift and wriggle. Just enough to fumble through the requisite awkwardness of getting her pants off her hips, and then the too-briefly-glimpsed shorts beneath them.

Kyouya held back, just a bit, drinking in the view--dark curls against pale skin, leading down to slick and flushed folds.

“Have you done this before?” she asked, and he nodded. Not that it would matter. He _needed_ to be between Haruhi’s legs, needed to fully experience her warmth, her scent, her taste. How had he gone without it this long?

She laughed, and gently guided him in--his nose pressed into those coarse curls of hair and he inhaled deeply, reverently. Description eluded him. She just smelled...like _Haruhi,_ and it was very good. His lips brushed across sensitive skin, and she rewarded him with fingers tightening in his hair; his tongue stole across that wet cleft, and he savored her moan to the very depths of himself.

“Don’t tease me, Kyouya-kun. Don’t you dare,” she breathed, but she laughed as she said it. Her fingers pulled him in, and he went willingly, filling his mouth with the taste of her, hot and slick.

It took an age and an instant at the same time, Kyouya’s sense of time lost to the warm haze of service and need. He held nothing back, trusting to Haruhi’s control of him--once or twice she hissed as he worshiped her too roughly with tongue or teeth, and he retreated obediently to safer ground. It was so _easy,_ and he marveled at it. It had always been awkward with other women, a little fumbling, a little out of sync. But Haruhi...she showed him exactly where to go. Kyouya listened to her body, and she gave him all the encouragement he might need--the tightening of her thighs against him, the increasingly ragged timbre of her moans.

“Stroke yourself,” Haruhi commanded, as her own hips started to buck and arch, and Kyouya obeyed--almost surprised at his own hardness, moaning into her with answering need. He shifted his hips so she could see, a thought she rewarded with a gasping, breathy “Beautiful boy.”

Towards the end, Haruhi simply gripped onto him hard, digging her fingernails into his shoulder and the nape of his neck, driving him higher with sweet pain. He responded by drinking deep of her, lips finding that particular nub and suckling gently. He could _feel_ her climax, the shuddering jerks of her body as she flooded his mouth with hot, rich slickness. His own release was just seconds behind, and he muffled his cry in Haruhi’s skin.

Kyouya came back to himself with exquisite slowness, panting breaths slowing to a pattern that was merely deep and heavy. Thought filtered back in at the same time, an awareness of himself that brought with it his sense of shame. He found, however, that it couldn’t quite get its claws in him--he felt the impulse, but it didn’t feel like... _truth._

Haruhi’s hand stroked gently across his back, up and down in a comforting rhythm. He lay there, soaking it in for a while, before stretching increasingly stiff muscles, and rolling onto his back to look up at her.

Somewhere along the line Haruhi had shed her suit jacket--maybe during the fumble with her pants? He’d been...distracted--and had partially unbuttoned her shirt. She looked...delightfully rumpled. And yet somehow no less dignified. Well, that was Haruhi, he supposed.

“Are you alright?” she asked, after a long moment of watching, and being watched in return. Her fingers were trailing across his chest now, and down his belly.

Kyouya nodded, eyes never leaving Haruhi’s face.

“I’d like to hear you say it, if you can.”

He swallowed, tried, failed, tried again. “I’m fine. I think. I don’t…” He laughed, a little. “I don’t have a frame of reference. But I feel...not in pain?”

Haruhi’s eyebrows went up. “Is that how you define ‘good,’ Kyouya-kun?”

Kyouya’s brow furrowed, and he frowned. “I...think so. Sometimes.”

Her smile was vaguely sad, and her fingers brushed gently across his cheek. “Oh, Kyouya. I want so much better for you.”

Such an odd thing, that, and one that Kyouya barely understood. But he understood enough. Possibly.

“That’s...quite a gift.”

“Mm.” She smiled down at him, and he marveled at how utterly unselfconscious Haruhi was. When had she become so comfortable in her own body and self? “With luck, it’s one you’ll learn to take for granted.”

“Never,” he said, and meant it.

“We’ll see,” she replied, and smiled again. “Give it time. But truly. Are you alright, Kyouya-senpai?”

He did the question the dignity of taking it seriously, running through a sort of mental diagnostic. He was...tired, certainly, and strangely--but not unpleasantly--unsettled. He felt like he’d been taken apart and put back together, in a similar but distinctly new configuration, and he wasn’t sure of how that realignment would affect him in the days to come. But under it all he was…

...happy.

How strange.

“I think...I think I’m good.” he replied, and smiled. It felt strange on his face--too open, too...real.

The smile he got in return was worth it, though.

“Good. Good boy. Do you think I can entice you to stay for dinner?”

Kyouya blushed, and, to his own surprise, grinned. “I think I could be convinced.”

“That’s good. Given that Tamaki was already making food for three.”

Part of him hesitated. He wasn’t yet _sure_ about this--about binding himself so closely to anyone. Even Tamaki and Haruhi.

But surely dinner couldn’t hurt.

  
  


KYOUYA OOTORI WILL RETURN….


End file.
